Forsaken Lines
by Mink1
Summary: It was over. For both of their sakes. What was more important then family? What was more important than life?


**Disclaimer: I know I don't own Harry Potter…If I did, I would have a castle. **

**Notes from the Author: Yes, I know this chapter is incredibly depressing. I assure you, it turns out sweet in the end…if I ever get there. Waarg…I accept any comment you can hand me, just something so that I know that someone read it. **

**The Story: DM/HP Male/Male relationship…when they are not being disagreeable and stupid. This story is going to be a little on the dark side, but hey, it's a new one for me. Things work out…I think.**

**It was the hardest moment that had ever manage to stumble into his life like that moronic Longbottom (The boy must have never known his feet, because he never appeared to look down), and he knew things would not be kind and resume a slower pace. For three hours he had slaved upon the thin parchment, yet to him it was a short lived experience. Time seemed to move much faster when you were trying to break someone's heart in the cruelest, gentlest way possible. Sure it was an oxymoron, but it was damn appropriate. Even as he wrote the words, he knew he was breaking his own heart as well. It was not every day you threw your own vital organs upon a marble slab and asked who wanted the liver. The pressure built around his eyes, but he swore he wouldn't cry. A Malfoy was never to show such a weakness, however a Malfoy would have never had a heart to begin with. What was he then, if not a Malfoy? What did he have aside from his last name?**

** He glanced over the bleak letter with his ghost blue eyes, haunted by the shadows of life. It made him laugh how truly pathetic he was, putting two letters of opposite nature into one. Hate and love generally were not usually pitted together, yet when shaken together you can't tell the difference, like oil and vinegar. They started off separate with clear lines, but once you began to shake them, all the lines disappeared and it made a damn good salad dressing. **

Nervousness made him flick his blonde hair behind his ears at the thought of the receiver's reaction. They should be hurt enough to never want to see him again and that was the driving intention of the letter. He didn't understand this driving urge to burn the letter, and run back to the arms wide and accepting. Draco always knew there would come a time when they were on opposite sides, and they would need hate to fight in battle. Where would the hate come from if he did not stop everything here?

It didn't matter anymore if he was digging out his own heart, for Draco knew to die by his lover's hands would be more of an end than he deserved. What purpose in life did he have to fulfill other than being his father's puppet?

So many unanswered questions…

Satisfied, he pulled out his wand and cast a spell upon the paper. It shined as the morning sun for a moment, and then quickly faded to normal. Harry was not to know till the war was over that another side to the letter lurked within. That side told more truth of what Draco felt then his gravestone would. For him, the gravestone was the final peace to a forced life he longed for escape from.

The blonde reached into the wooden desk and grabbed an old green ribbon his father had tied onto the first morning of Hogwarts. It was the only letter he had ever received full of praise for being a man, and only subtle hints that he had to work hard or else. A tawny owl was waiting impatiently on the windowsill for him, and he tied the letter gently to its scaly, extended leg.

As he watched the owl fly off, he felt as if his heart had just leapt out of the window but had forgotten it had no wings. Just as he was thinking of the imminent splat on the concrete, he felt a wet drop on his hands.

The silhouette in the dark began to shake at the realization that this would be the last time he would feel these emotions. He swore that never again would he feel, for someone with no heart and a Malfoy scoffed at the weak whom allowed such a frail, human condition to control their life.

"This is what you've done to me, Harry…You made me love you when you knew it would all be thrown away. Hope…hopefully…I meant…n-" yet he never finished. He dropped to his knees, the skin scrapping slightly on the hard floor, body wracked with sobs, knowing that this would be the last time he cried. He couldn't bring himself to think that he meant nothing, but he knew this was best. His emotions left with the blood trickling from his wounds, in his knees and in his heart.

He knew where his place was, and no matter what his heart screamed at him, he must obey his father, or there would be hell to pay for such a doomed couple. They would exploit on both sides for their own greed, and no one could ever knew that Harry cried while his friends weren't looking, was haunted by nightmares of things no person should, and would break if another person died before him when he could do nothing. Knowledge that Draco was one of Harry's weak spots could never escape.

So this was it…this was…

"Goodbye…" he whispered to the wind, secretly wishing Harry was there to wipe away the tears.

Uncounted minutes passed before the young man stood, but he could very well have been a different person. Draco had died that night, washed out among tears. The artic chill residing in gray eyes belonged to a person completely capable with killing friends, children, and past lovers.

Malfoy rose, and didn't look back.

THE AUTHOR RETURNS: So…whatcha think? Any comment is accepted! More support I receive, the more I want to write! Hope you enjoyed it!

; Someone with patience like to be a beta? So I make sure I am not producing trash…whoops, I think it is too late!

See you next time…

Mink


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